The Sunday Gazetteer
Sunday, March 20, 1887
pg. 1

REST AT LAST
An Old Landmark Taken Away
Mr. J.W. Pecor, better known by the nickname of "Patsey McJackson," was found dead in bed at his room in the residence of A.R. Collins, Esq. at 1:30 o'clock Friday afternoon, having been dead some hours.  Patsey became known as a victim
of consumption something over a year ago, since which time he had oscillated between life and death, with the balance in favor of the latter most of the time, but always showing pluck enough when able to walk to come out upon the street and assure his friends that he was getting better and expected to be enjoying his accustomed health in a short time.  Thursday he was up town but feeling very weak and sick, and in the evening when he started for his room he was obliged to sit down and rest at short intervals.  He was seen by an attache of the Gazetteer office to enter the residence of Mr. A.R. Collins
about 8 o'clock and a few minutes afterwards to light the gas in his room. He has generally been allowed to sleep as long as he chose, and he was therefore not disturbed all morning but when noon had passed and he was not yet around it was concluded that he must be sicker than usual or he would be up.  Jerry Woods, a colored man who cleans around the house, went to his room and knocked, but receiving no answer looked over the transom and saw him lying upon the bed.  He opened the door and entering discovered that Patsey was dead.  An inquest was held  and a verdict of death from consumption rendered.
Patsey Pecor came to Denison from Virginia 12 years ago, and did his first work in the city for the present proprietor of the Gazetteer.  He has been ever since a resident of Denison and most of the time has been connected with the press of the city.  Though wild, he was good hearted and succeeded in making himself one of the most popular young men in the newspaper service.  He was a man of large and varied experiences and one of the most entertaining conversationalists
we ever met.  He was thoroughly original and would attract notice in any company.  He was one of Denison's oldest landmarks and many an expression of regret have we heard at his begin taken away.  He had many staunch friends who,
during his illness, never allowed him to want for anything.  About a year ago, A.R. Collins took him over to his residence and assigned to him one of the most elegantly furnished and comfortable rooms in the city, which he has occupied free of charge, having a servant to wait upon him whenever he wished one.  Other friends furnished him money for medicine, clothing, etc., and altogether he has never had a want that was not promptly supplied.
He was buried Saturday morning at 9:30 o'clock, the funeral being under the auspices of the O.O. of H., of which society he was a member.  A large procession of people followed the remains to Fairview Cemetery where they were laid away
with as much ceremony and pomp as if Patsey had been a millionaire instead of a penniless journalist without a relative human enough to take a last look at his emanciated remains, or heave a sign for his sad and untimely end.

The Sunday Gazetteer
Sunday, December 4, 1905
pg. 4

Patsey Pecor, the Blue Bird of Texas, and one of the best known newspapermen that was ever on the Denison press, lies in a forgotten grave at Fairview.  No stone marks his last resting place, no one knows exactly where he was buried. Pecor
was the most natural wit that has ever been on the Denison press.  It was perfectly natural for him to say smart things.  Everybody knew Patsey, now no one knows him.  He has passed out of memory as completely as though he never lived.  Hard lines fell to Patsey, he lingered with consumption for some time, but the old timers saw that he wanted nothing.  A.R. Collins, the richest and most influential man in Denison, took Patsey to his home and provided him with a comfortable room.
One morning Patsey was found dead in his bed.  He was carried to his last resting place by the fire department.  The coffin rested on the trucks drapped in black.
That is about 18  years ago and every trace of the grave has been obliterated, and the young man who could stir all Denison into laughter and was a Bohemian of the true type has passed into oblivion.  To die is to be forgotten, and it is
better that death invites forgetfulness.

His real name was John W Pecor